Black Ice
by Cowjump
Summary: For as long as humanity has thrived, there has always been a Schnee. Now, in this age of self-anointed "kings" and "unlikely" war, no one cares to follow. This was a disease, eradicated only through patience and ruthless competence.


Thank you for reading. Before we begin, it should be said that this story is not a one-off. Further, this is not a sequel or a prequel or even a companion piece to something concurrent. This is a primer, a preface to something larger and both does and does not rely on existing material from the novels _Valence_ and, more pertinently, _Edelweiss_. It is not required of you to read these novels beforehand, but this story is meant to bridge the gap between _Valence_ , _Edelweiss_ , and their shared sequel. Hopefully, I might sell you on the idea.

For readers who are familiar with my writing, hi. I'm going to warn you now that the prose in this story is a bit more…concentrated than the other stuff I've done. Mostly, this is to cram in a lot of prescient details and set the stage for the sequel to come, but I must admit I did go a bit overboard. However, I don't think it will be a problem. The story is at the length I wanted and expresses the details I needed, and although the result was a little heady, it'll make sense—if not now, then in the early chapters of the sequel.

Now, with all of that out of the way, I'll leave you to it. I hope you enjoy _Black Ice_.

* * *

High above the Barren Sea, a harvest moon lingered, casting its rose-wine light upon this solitary island and marking the beginning of autumn. To think that at one point in history this sight could bring an entire town together for the duty of progress was now, in this age of decadence and cynicism, a mere fairy tale. Even the threat of war on the horizon could not spur the world's greatest leaders into any course of action except those of hedonistic cowardice—fundraisers and seasonal festivals to affirm their pockets' affect. Truly, they cared not to win. The moon simply hung there, colossal and beaming across the expanse of icy waters as its light shone through the manor's study window and onto the man in characteristic white.

There were no thoughts to give now, no strategies to adjust; this was simply a moment of respite. But even then, his rest was, habitually, time from action to plan ever more. The civilized world in its modern entirety depended upon his forward-facing will, and without his intervention, the kingdoms' walls would invariably crumble as their people would, meanwhile, fall by governors' sloth. However, the individual worth he placed upon them could be measured only in the infrequent sips he took from his brandy. In truth, it could be said that Otto Schnee did not care for the people he was believed to lord over, proving their rumors and libel technically correct. But he did serve to protect them, although never at an individual level. Such was why he sought silence from the party elsewhere in his manor.

Senators and their spouses, generals and their colonels, associates and guests of their own had gathered upon this island fortress to pay respect to their shared advisor and ally. Of course, this had only been the expected outcome. In actuality, their attendance was more so for their own benefit and entertainment than it ever was about unity. They knew Kaiser Island was the safest place to meet and coordinate en masse, and were thus reverent to the Schnee family's influence. Unfortunately, they had found prestige by their own separate means and were still leaders naturally vying against their host and each other.

As such, Otto knew his absence would only spur interest. The longer he spent in his study, staring out at the red moon, the more impatient they would become. This, in turn, would lead to fractures among them, in-fighting which would reveal their deepest grievances before their host returned to act as the bonding agent he always had been. They would fight for him and work towards his favor against others who did the same, and in doing so their collective apathy would be eliminated.

There was, however, no singular goal to Otto's absence. In truth, none of the man's strategies served a simple purpose, as there is inherent safety in ambivalence if its wielder understands the ends. And it is to say without compliment or bias that Otto Schnee knew exactly what he was doing at all points in time.

The longer he waited, the more positive a response his entrance would bring. Likewise, the longer the waves lapped at the cliffs below and the longer a brandy sits in its cask, the greater the effect would be. Schnees were a patient breed and always had been. Whether it was in military campaigns or in long-run business ventures or even in his family's storied declination to the Atlesian throne, time had been as great a resource as Dust and proved equally rewarding.

But now his hair was greying. Rather, his hair had long since greyed, but time was beginning to take a visible toll. Compared to those who chattered in the distant ballroom, Otto Schnee could be considered young; however, in his forty years of diligent life, he was neither youthful nor eager. His figure was yet slim and gaunt, his hands worn from the sabre on his belt, and his hair remained cut in the same way it had been when his father handed him the company. Since then, these weary grey eyes had seen innumerable ventures both written and personal, inspiring fear amongst his business contemporaries and earning reverence among his kingdom's military. Unfortunately, his influence had begun to plateau, and as the coming years approached, he knew his standing would decline alongside whatever appearance had eroded with his press.

He sipped his brandy. It was almost time for this silence to end, he decided. His presence was not only necessary now, it was anticipated, and by this point he was certain his guests had begun to fight, passively blaming each other for their benefactor's disappearance. They had likely forgotten their own party now and moved instead to progress their agendas, fracturing in their stagnation. With a sigh, Otto turned away from the window.

The harvest moon cast a low light across the study, bathing the bookshelves to either side in a soft red glow and shrouding the single portrait on the far wall in shadow. The man in white moved towards this painting, avoiding the window-side furniture and wasting no time in placing the half-dented spirit atop his desk's inlaid screen, glancing at the opened message therein.

With a turn of his fingers, the message spun to face him, displaying the four short sentences which had initially spurred this absence. He neither frowned nor smiled; rather, his external reaction was, as had been conditioned, nonexistent. Internally, however, he was exasperated at the Flotilla's flightiness. They were a respectable group in so far as they held to honor and tradition, but their word mattered only at the time of fulfillment. Promises from Vacuo were meant for the promisers exclusively and existed as mere potentialities to a more pressing schedule—they were a people valuable by their learnings but untrustworthy by their isolationism. Further, their nomadic ministers were famously difficult to coordinate with.

Otto suddenly blinked. A whisper had interrupted these considerations. It was an auric tingle, a ghost in the back of his mind he simply could not ignore.

Someone was coming, a man walking the hall. He was armed and moved at such a rate that his arrival would occur in approximately, though not exactly, ten seconds—there was no proof of this, no sound or disturbance in the air. But Otto knew. Rather than taking to his sword, he sipped his brandy and faced the approaching figure.

In eight seconds' time, the study's doors were pushed open, gently so not to disrespect. Between them stood a man with the physique of a champion bull but an expression like that of a tired tortoise—a battle-worn northerner from the Schwarzstadt and a trusted aide-de-camp. As the heavy doors were once again shut, this Tyr turned to stand at ready attention, hands clasped behind his back and eyes locked fearlessly onto Otto's own.

"Sir, your guests are ready." His speech was more or less a series of grunts, words enunciated perfectly as was expected of his position but altogether hidden behind his dialectic gruffness. "They're looking to your daughter for answers. They're restless."

Otto nodded, swiping the message away and shutting his terminal down. "Has she answered them?" His own voice was purposefully quiet but far from meek. He knew the answer already, but still he tested the respective truthfulness of his aide and daughter.

"No, sir. She…" Tyr closed his eyes for a brief, self-reprimanding moment as he bit his tongue. "Winter hasn't told them anything. Only jokes and—"

"You interrupted yourself."

"Sir?"

"What did you intend to say?" The larger Atlesian seemed uncertain. "Speak freely, Tyr. I've had enough hidden from me today, and I'd rather you not add to my frustration. If you have something to say about my daughter, then say it."

The man at the doorway cleared his throat. "Personally?" Otto nodded, permitting his speech. "I don't believe you have to worry about Winter speaking on your behalf. When has she said anything that didn't pose more questions? She's not the most…straightforward girl."

No matter how many times he had been given permission to speak his mind, Tyr was still reluctant to glance insubordination. Perhaps it was in his rearing, perhaps it was in his military career before Kaiser Island, but the end result was a yet unmatched loyalty and occasional moments of bitter passivity. He was one of the few people a Schnee could trust.

"And do you see the see the benefit of her indirectness?" Otto asked.

"I do. It makes others dependent on an answer that will never come."

"But you also see the fault in her indirectness."

Again, Tyr bit his tongue. "Yes, sir."

"Very well."

At this, the man in white moved from his desk, stepping with deliberate care and passing quickly through the doors Tyr opened. Neither wasted any time in making their way to the benefit, understanding the desired moment was now at hand. With long, unleisurely strides, the two of white and grey traveled down the buttressed marble halls, through the echoing passages, and across the wide foyers, sparing little for the information they needed to share and focusing meanwhile on the tasks ahead.

Halfway to their destination, the larger man's eyes widened in mild urgency. This was quickly suppressed. "Sir, an envoy from the Flotilla is in attendance tonight. He says he's here to serve a formal apology since—"

"He came as a replacement to Mr. Qin," Otto corrected.

"Yes, sir. I don't doubt that, but he says Mr. Qin sent him as a courtesy."

"You'd do well not to trust Vacuoans. I will believe this envoy's apology as soon as Mr. Qin honors his agreement and walks through my front doors personally." Although the man's shift from a neutral expression to that of a scowl was otherwise invisible, his aide seemed to notice. "They are attempting to start a war between themselves and the outside world. They will do anything to convince you they are humble and well-intentioned, but the moment a greater opportunity arises, they abandon their global responsibilities for nationalism."

"Then why invite them?"

"Because I respect them. Because we need them. If we want to win the coming war, there will be no room for isolationist states. And if the Flotilla does not realize this, then Mr. Qin and I will need to speak."

Tyr nodded. "What would you have me do with the envoy?"

"Let him enjoy the party. Let him mingle with the other guests and allow them to acclimate to his kind. But he and I will not speak tonight. The need is for Mr. Qin, not a subordinate."

"I'll tell the valets. Also, sir, you do have another guest."

Grey eyes flashed Tyr's way.

"He's not on the list."

An intruder. Not the first of his kind, but certainly not the last. "Will he be a threat?"

"I don't assume so. He's been waiting patiently on the outbound veranda all night. Says you've met before."

"Does this guest have a name?"

"He went by Rowans."

Otto looked ahead, straining to recall such a person. His memory was, as he described, flawless, and his personal investment in the people of Atlas left little in the way of ignorance. However, the name was unfamiliar. "I've never met a Rowans."

"It's an alias, sir. I ran his name through the kingdoms' registries, and there were no references to him. Still, he says he knows you and is asking for permission to go north."

"Deny him. See him out with a wine and favor, and make sure he leaves the island peacefully." There was the possibility that this guest was, in fact, genuine, but considering the partygoers only rooms away and the northbound request this "Rowans" put forth, there was simply no reason to entertain him now. And with the alias he undoubtedly used, the whisper in the back of Otto's mind urged him towards caution.

"Of course, sir."

They walked in silence for a moment, becoming aware of the slowly growing noise from the end of the hall and the ballroom beyond. As it was, Otto knew his return would evoke the response he had intended, but he also understood these matters of deception and allied instability would become problems in the near future. Unfortunately, they were beyond his immediate control, and thus he could not do anything to rectify them right now. Gaining leverage over the Flotilla would take time and persistence while the breach in his island's security would be dealt with tomorrow. For now, he needed to make sure Rowans and Qin were the only loose ends so to ensure his benefit's success.

He glanced at the man beside him, finding an invisibly contemplative look. A whisper told him there was more, that these comments of intruders and absentees lacked the proper rhetorical closure. Behind Tyr's expression, there was something else, something larger which his reluctance would not admit. Being that this could only worsen the problems of dishonesty, the man in white asked, "Is there anything else to report?"

"Sir…um..." This was odd. Otto had never known Tyr to be the hesitant sort. He could be reticent, of course, and often terse, but he had never once been afraid. The larger man was goaded on by a critical look. "Headquarters received a call today from Darren Green."

"We ended the deal with Verdantell."

"I understand, sir, but he called to speak about your daughter. About rumors."

Otto looked forwards in quiet exasperation. "Spare me. I've heard enough about Winter's escapades, and whatever he has to say will hardly be news."

"He didn't call about Winter."

In an instant, Otto Schnee's composure fell away. He was not scared of these looming implications nor did he worry over their potential effects; rather, a low fury was cast across his features, resulting in an uncharacteristic frown and glare.

"Weiss had a run-in with Mr. Greene over the summer. From what he said, she attacked him without provocation and threatened his life while he was out to dinner."

This was unsurprising for both parties' personalities, but a whisper said there was more. As such, the glare continued.

"I called the Bee and the Eagle to confirm this," Tyr said, "and was told he had interrupted a meeting of hers instead. The only other sources we have are Vale's tabloids, and they are confirming both perspectives. Mr. Greene interrupted your daughter's business and she offended him in response."

The two reached the light at the end of the hall, arriving upon a bustling crowd and the haughty energy of its otherwise prestigious members. In their gowns and suits of competing qualities and with crystalline glasses in hand, the hundred guests and their accompanying spouses and assistants looked on at the entering two, murmuring quietly below the band's hum. Otto and Tyr stood before the overlooking banister, no longer concerned by tonight's goals but instead by a single tabloid rumor. Nevertheless, Atlas turned to Otto. Those who were not entertained by the sociality and pull of the lone white dress, far across the room, stared in awe at their senior host's distraction—his mere existence had caused the desired effect.

He whispered to Tyr, "And what is his reason for calling?" Although he did ignore his guests, the scowl upon Otto's features quickly fell away. Rather than having his frustration manifest outwardly, he squeezed his sabre's grip. "This hardly constitutes as blackmail. Weiss has already famed herself on being uncooperative."

Tyr hesitated. "Yes, sir. However, that was not his point."

A quiet sigh betrayed the man in white's composure.

"He said he was teamed up on. He didn't say who was with Weiss and the restaurant is still denying the matter, but the tabloids keep bringing up someone. They don't have her name, but they call her Little Red. Allegedly, she and your daughter are friends. There are a few pictures of them together and a few of that night, but all of them are unfocused and inadmissible. Weiss' valets are reporting that she did give their services to friends she made in Vale, but they haven't said anything corroborative of a Little Red."

Tabloids seldom reported on friendship. "To what capacity are they friends?"

"I don't know, sir. I believe they're peers, but Mr. Greene called her Weiss' thug, so I can't say."

Weiss was young. No matter how much she spoke above her depth and no matter how many successful ventures she undertook, she was still prone to emotionality—fury, contempt, attachment. This made for unstable leadership and rash decisions. Whoever this Little Red was and whatever had been said to Mr. Greene were inconsequential in the grand prism of legacy; what was important was Weiss' standing. By being careless around cameras, she had endangered her family's reputation, and by threatening such an insignificant figure, she had openly proven the pettiness of her goals. It had been her choice to attend the combat academy in Vale, and although it was indeed a questionable decision, Otto had allowed it. Unfortunately, this now seemed a mistake.

"Call Beacon Academy. Inform them Weiss will be withdrawing at the end of this semester."

"Understood. Should I investigate her friends?"

"No need. They will come up in her explanations."

Tyr nodded and, without another word, lumbered away. He was an obedient sort but understood when to question orders, making him operable in both servile and, should he ever come upon them, leadership positions. He would become a good statesman one day. Otto owed him that much.

With this, the crowd was finally greeted. The man in white turned to them with nothing more than a sweeping gaze, no expression on his lips as he surveyed the separations between generals and statesmen, colonels and moguls of their respective trades. They watched him with smiles, neither disingenuous nor patronizing, since it was at their behest he had arrived in the first place. But he did not smile back. He was indeed above them and knew this well, and although their accolades were many and their productions kept Atlas in this present golden age, Otto knew this would not be possible without his family's intervention. And they knew it, too. Those across the room who crowded around the girl in white laughed with her jokes and became utterly enthralled by her smile. They knew why they were here.

Men and women alike, whose value had been forged by decades of questionable maneuvers, stood in both fear and awe of the house Schnee. To one end, the charismatic and ever-appealing Winter coiled each and every one of them around her finger, whispering stories her seniors desperately believed. To the other, Otto Schnee watched silently the masses which congregated below as though a caring father would—that is, without coddling the group and instead holding them to the fires of standards. Between this disparity, Atlas was bound. Without the Schnees, this kingdom's longest lineage, it was assumed that the world would fall to disrepair; but with them, the kingdoms' wealth was secured. Categorically, Otto Schnee was above these guests, and though they did hope to one day challenge his effect, they all knew this would never be.

Unfortunately, the youngest among them was not in attendance. Without Weiss' idealism and competent structures, there was no forward-looking hope to be found in Glatteis Manor. Between Otto and Winter, there was simply assurance, but whereas their involvement assured a stable present, Weiss added the promise of a faraway future. But she was away now, blinding herself with needless tactics and wasting her time on an ultimately fruitless venture. She was bound to her civic duty in Atlas, and although she was capable with a sword and understood the grammar of strategy, she was no warrior. Such a title belonged to those who would brace and succeed, not to those who would flee and hide in a separate kingdom. Indeed, it was time for her to come home and limit the damage she could cause herself.

With a composing sigh, the man in white stepped forward, descending the marble steps and joining the jubilation as a figure of immovable strength. As he shook the hands of his relieved patrons and spoke to them in quick, concise terms, his thoughts lingered on the variables beyond his reach. The whisper in his mind supplied options of adjustment, but these were ignored. His plans were still in motion, and were he not to offer all his attention to those who supported him now, then only more variables would be lost. Amid this harvest moon benefit, the man of white and grey and his daughter of white and gold made clear their gracious power.

It is not to say Otto Schnee ruled the world. By all certain means, he did control the world's direction and, in this way, civilization's legacy as all prior Schnees had. But to claim rule over the world would be to claim final victory. Remnant could not be governed by one man alone and thus was not in this present time. Instead, the world's conquest was by the Grimm collective. These guests, however, did not believe it. These guests simply could not believe a war stalked the horizon, backing continuously into shadow until either man's expansion grew too thin or society's sloth grew them too fat. It was the Grimm who ruled the world and it was the Grimm who hunted the hunters. Humanity's lone purpose was survival, and although the Flotilla in Vacuo, the parliaments of Vale and Mistral, and his youngest daughter and all her conscientious promise ignored this simple fact, Otto Schnee would continue to fight.

* * *

Told you it was concentrated. Partly, that had to do with an attempt to move scenes along faster. In _Valence_ and _Edelweiss_ , an action such as Otto and Tyr walking the halls (not including dialogue) could take two paragraphs or more to simply describe, not to mention the paragraph for deciding to leave and then another for arriving. I like my long-windedness and don't plan on changing it for the sequel, but this was a fun experiment.

Anyway, reflections.

For those of you who have read _Edelweiss_ (and if you do intend to read the sequel, you really should), I imagine you're somewhat apprehensive about Weiss' father and the way he's portrayed. This is to be expected. There were a lot of names and dilemmas introduced here, and I can't expect you to be familiar with all these proper nouns from a 3,500-word short story. The sequel, _On Kaiser Island_ , will elaborate upon these and introduce even more, but not with this sort of concentrated prose. So, even if Otto and Tyr feel a bit flat or anticlimactic, I can assure you that they will be characterized just as well as I would characterize Team RWBY. This story was meant to be an introduction, not an explanation.

Additionally, as a side note: Yes, I am aware Tyr's name should be spelled Týr. I know how you Norse mythology buffs get with that sort of errata, and it's never not great. But this is not an error. Although this version of Tyr is a pretty big allusion to the mythological god and although they share more than a few characteristics, they are not the same character. If I were to give Tyr an accented name, he would only live under Týr's shadow. Also, I'm going to be writing his name a lot, so it's going to get annoying having to paste a "ý" however many hundred times.

This story also showed the first, story-defining conflict of _On Kaiser Island_. Following the events of _Edelweiss_ , which is a romance novel for those unfamiliar, Ruby and Weiss are dating and have, to some extent, forgotten their initial worries. There was a time when Weiss made it a point to not publicly present herself as "dating" Ruby so much as they were "friends," but emotions got the better of them. Because of this, her father knows something is amiss, and rather than waiting to find out how this could end, he chooses to bring her home. This is the main consequence you should be able to take away.

This story is a primer. Chronologically, it takes place at the same time as _Valence_ 's final chapter but stands in the middle of _Valence_ , its companion novel _Edelweiss_ , and their sequel _On Kaiser Island_. At this point, both _Valence_ and _Edelweiss_ are complete, though I would prioritize reading _Edelweiss_ first if you want more context for this story and the sequel to come.

 _On Kaiser Island_ will be released this Saturday, September 5, and will be a romance novel for both Bumblebee and White Rose. For more information, please refer to either OKI's first chapter's author's notes at the time of publishing or my Tumblr, found on my Fanfiction profile.

Thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed. Stay safe and stay tuned.


End file.
